Blogging from New Caledonia

I’m writing this in a house in Portes de Fer, a suburb of Nouméa whose name translates as ‘iron gates’. We’re here for 10 days, on a holiday that was handed to us rather than planned for. A couple of months ago we received an email via homeexchange.com asking if we’d like to swap homes with a New Caledonian family. The dates fitted both our schedules, the cost of travel wasn’t prohibitive, and we knew almost nothin about New Caledonia. So we wrote back accepting, and here we are.

That’s my excuse for not being among the first to report that Jennifer Maiden’s Liquid Nitrogen won the Victorian Premier’s Literary Award, which the press release evidently described as the richest literary prize in Australia. JM commented that in the absence of superannuation it was a very welcome contribution to her finances. Just in case there’s anyone out there relying on my fannish notes to find out such news, I’m telling you now, a couple of days late. John Kinsella has a nice piece on the award in Crikey. Other Australian news, including Tony Abbott’s continuing war with the real world, does reach us, but I’m confident no one depends on this blog for that.

Inspired by the streets around here, which like those in Byron Bay are named after poets, I’m indulging my sonnet fixation:

First Impressions of Noumea, January 2014
With no rough strife at Portes de Fer
we’re lazing in rue Mallarmé,
a stroll uphill from Baudelaire
or down to bus stop du Bellay.
In town we hear no hostile gun
on Austerlitz, la Marne, Verdun.
These tricouleurs the only flags
though tri means sorting garbage bags
and colours won’t be kept to three:
dark skin, bright clothes and humble stance,
the Kanaks say, ‘We’re not in France!’
Some took up arms for Kanaky,
and died, but now if art’s a word
these words of colour will be heard.

A moment in Norwegian history. The king chooses what the film judges to be the lesser of two evils. The wretchedness of a country being invaded is made viscerally real. A spectacular sequence where a German battleship is destroyed by artillery and torpedoes. No Hollywood heroics; no Hollywood resolution.

Benjamin Law in conversation with David Marr at the Seymour Centre the other night did a great job of making me want to read this: for another horror story about the Australian on the warpath, and also for a factual account of the Safe Schools program that was the target of that mendacious warpath. (And predictably they attacked him personally when the essay […]

x a family sitcom that revolves around a boy with Aspergers in high school who has managed extraordinarily well up to this point, but whose dawning interest in sex is throwing things into turmoil. Not just played for laughs, but funny just the same.